“The lord informed me that terms for Qualinesti were identical to those terms offered to Kalaman, a city that has yielded to the Knights of Takhisis, yet still functions with pride and identity intact.”
“How can you call that pride—to hand over your city and your people, to allow a foreign army to occupy and rule you?” demanded a female elf sarcastically. Gilthas recognized her as a radical young senator, Anthelia.
“Nevertheless,” Rashas intervened sternly, “all reports show that the people in that city have been able to maintain their possessions, their freedom, and even most of their significant rights!”
“Except rights such as the freedom to criticize the city’s rulers!” Anthelia retorted angrily.
“In my opinion, the right to criticize one’s ruler is a privilege that all too often lends itself to abuse,” snapped Rashas. “Now I must beg that you remain silent, so that our agent may conclude his report!”
“Let the silence linger here, then!” she shot back. “You’re all very good at that as long as your precious wealth and status remain intact!”
“Guards, remove that woman!” Rashas commanded, and several Kagonesti slaves moved forward from the doors.
“Never mind. I shall remove myself,” Anthelia replied. “I need to get some fresh air. The stink in here is already unbearable, and I have a feeling it’s going to get worse!”
Gilthas stepped out of the way as the slender female stalked through the crowd, which parted like magic before her haughty gaze. She glanced once at the young Speaker, then tossed her head and looked away. Feeling the full brunt of the contemptuous gesture, Gilthas once more withered under the combined onslaughts of guilt and shame.
At the portals to the great chamber, Anthelia spun around and regarded the gathered elves with wild eyes. Her blond hair was unkempt, scattered across her face and shoulders. Her face was twisted with an expression like pain, but it was an agony on a deep and spiritual level.
“I spit on your concept of honor! I spit upon your pretentiousness and your cowardice. Elves of Qualinesti, I spit on you all!”
Shocked, the Thalas-Enthia recoiled in mass as she did just that. The chamber erupted in outraged mutters and angry shouts as the doors slammed behind the departing woman.
Rashas, however, merely shook his head theatrically, a gesture that managed to imply benevolent tolerance for an immature girl and scorn for her radical notions. Once more Gilthas felt his temper rise, and yet once more he knew he was incapable of doing anything to prevent the march of events. Still, he started to push his way through the crowd, determined at last to make his way to the rostrum.
Surprisingly, the elves stood back to let him pass, and a wide avenue opened through the council chamber so that he was able to ascend the steps with relative ease. As he took his place on the rostrum, Rashas indicated to Guilderhand that he should keep speaking.
“As I was saying,” the spy resumed, somehow managing to affect an air of wounded dignity, “we have been assured that personal property, including slaves, will be respected. The Thalas-Enthia will continue to meet in this chamber and to have full authority over matters relating to Qualinesti, except when they conflict with matters of the Dark Knights’ security.”
“And what do the Dark Knights get out of this conquest?” Gilthas asked. “Why have they come here?”
“Perhaps I can answer that,” Rashas said. “For, shrewd and observant as our loyal agent is, these were facts he did not discern. However, as I hear more about the developments of this recent ‘war’”—he said the word as if the elves should realize that the conflict was in reality nothing more than a big misunderstanding—“the more I realize that the coming of the Dark Knights may, in fact, be a good thing for Ansalon.”
Murmurs of astonishment greeted this statement, but they were muted by those who found some cause for agreement with the senator’s startling remark. The young Speaker of the Sun found nothing agreeable in the statement, however, and turned his eyes upon Rashas with a cold glare.
“Can you explain yourself?” Gilthas asked. “Does this mean that you have chosen to embrace the worship of the Dark Queen?”
“Certainly not!” Rashas was indignant. “Nor, as I understand the terms of this occupation, is the worship of Takhisis a matter that the knights intend to advocate. But think about it, wise elves... think about the events that have marked our world in the last years.” He spoke reasonably, turning his back to Gilthas as he addressed the elder senators in the front rows of the council.
“Haven’t we seen an increase in banditry and brigandage? All across Ansalon, and even here, in Qualinesti? And has there not been a tendency among the youth to scorn the time-honored ways of their elders, to abandon the wisdom that has evolved through centuries, through millennia of life and culture?”
Now his words were greeted with nods of agreement, and Gilthas knew that the senator had them.
“We have all seen the signs of this cultural erosion... the lack of respect shown to those of high rank. Too many fortunes are made easily today, and as a consequence, the hallowed traditions of generations-long dynasties are replaced by upstart youngsters who would as soon spit upon this great tower as honor it with appropriate fealty.”
Who could argue with this eminently reasonable statement? After all, the memory of Anthelia’s angry departure was still at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
“Then, too, there are matters of sedition, such as the treaty our former Speaker and his Silvanesti wife were attempting to impose upon us. They would have broken down the time-honored barriers that make us our own unique people!
“Elves of the Thalas-Enthia, it seems to me that the coming of the Dark Knights is not necessarily the tragedy that we first perceived it to be. Surely they will take steps to guard our highways from bandits, and perhaps, where we are inclined through benevolence and tolerance to put up with outrageous behavior, the knights will see that such outbursts are punished in a way that will prevent them from happening again.”
Once more the lingering shame of Anthelia’s diatribe worked in Rashas’s favor. No elf had been bold enough to lay a hand upon her as she stormed out, but there were many here who would have relished the prospect of seeing her imprisoned, whipped, or even worse.
“Finally, there is the matter of practicality, the knowledge that we simply do not have a force to resist this imminent onslaught. Or, forgive me Honored Speaker.” Now Rashas turned to Gilthas, who stood, white-lipped, behind him. “Did you have success in gathering an army to defend our city.”
“You know very well that I did not,” replied the young Speaker tightly.
Rashas did not even bother to acknowledge the response. “Then I make the following resolution. That we send an emissary to Lord Salladac, empowered to treat with him, and that we make a pact to accept his terms. We will welcome him into our city and treat him with the honor a conqueror deserves, and we will hope that Qualinesti is allowed to flourish under the same circumstances as Palanthas and Kalaman.
“I will ask for a voice vote. Speak if you are in favor of my resolution.”
There was a mutter of assent—not a shout of acclamation, but still a nearly unanimous grumble of elven voices.
“And opposed?...”
Gilthas wanted to shout his own outrage, but he knew there was no use. In truth, what good would it do to resist, when the elven nation could not muster an army, when the people did not have the will to defend themselves? And so he held his silence.
“It is decided, then,” Rashas declared. “The Speaker of the Sun and Stars and I myself shall go to see Lord Salladac on the morrow. With luck, by tomorrow night, we will again be a nation at peace.”